


One of Them

by Deannie



Series: Women on the Border [15]
Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, F/M, Post-Movie, so very very movieverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 15:48:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8108272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: She’d always known it was going to happen, sooner or later. She was just biding her time to figure out the best way to escape. She could’ve used the Losers, actually, but they were, unfortunately, in another country. And probably pissed as hell at her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the hc_bingo prompt: arrest. Part of my Women on the Border series.
> 
>  **Arrest** (a definition—a few of them, actually, and all in use in this fic):   
>  1\. To bring to a stop or make inactive.  
> 2\. To take into custody by authority of law.  
> 3\. To catch suddenly and completely (as in attention)
> 
> Note to Losers: This isn't my usual Aisha (who I maintain really _is_ as batshit in the movieverse as she is in the comic book, she just hides it better). No, this is a kinder, gentler Aisha. Sort of. :)

She’d always known it was going to happen, sooner or later. She was just biding her time to figure out the best way to escape. She could’ve used the Losers, actually, but they were, unfortunately, in another country. And probably pissed as hell at her.

Not that she’d blame them for it, though in fairness, they probably shouldn't have trusted her anyway. 

But the four of them were really  _ one for all and all for one _ , which was fine when you were a black ops team who might as well be in some sort of group marriage, exiled and searching for justice. It just didn’t suit her, though. Mostly what she wanted to do was hunt down and kill every single man responsible for her father’s death and string each of them up by his balls.

Right?

An image of Clay, balls and all, came to her suddenly, and Aisha stood up, limping painfully from one side of the cell to the other. He was… He just wasn’t fair. She’d done a lot of bad things in her life, but she wasn’t her father. She believed in some sort of justice. Not in the rabid way Clay and his boys did, but she had a kind of honor to her. 

Clay was one of the good guys. He just was. And it was somehow grossly unfair that Max had used someone like him to kill her father. He was literally going to  _ make her kill Clay _ and that… Really just wasn’t fair.

“Hey, wildcat!”

The guard made his rounds—seventeen minutes from one end of the mostly empty cellblock to the other, every time—and ran his club along the bars of her cell like a Neanderthal. Aisha stood where she was, singularly unimpressed.

“You are not so tough now, are you?” he asked in broken English. 

“Why don’t you come in and find out?” she suggested, smiling nicely.

“You watch it, girly,” he said, something in her smile or her eyes making him think she might kill him if he walked into that cell. He wasn’t wrong. “Maybe I put the bullet in your head, go with the bullet in your leg.”

She wasn’t sure he’d be able to hit the target, drunk as he was. Either way, she ignored him and, true to form, he walked away. No one was going to shoot her and she knew it. They wanted to use her to get money out of Max, which was truly one of the dumbest things she could think of. Anyone who knew Max knew he didn’t play games like that. His games were more blood and guts than money and talk, ultimately.

Which  _ might _ have been why Aisha snuck away from Clay and his boys in Venezuela and came up here to Mexico alone, following a hunch and a scrap of intel on where Max was right now. And if he was, in fact, here, he’d try to kill them and she’d have to save them and it would take time and be complicated.

She hadn’t planned to get arrested by the locals, of course. And she hadn’t planned for the locals to be a bunch of brainless drug dealers who were trying to extort money from Max. 

Aisha had made the mistake of making inquiries, looking for Max's local research facility, and these idiots seemed to think that meant she might be worth something to Max. So stupid. She was getting sloppy, working with Clay, which was a problem.

But maybe not her biggest one.

No, her biggest problem was that she’d begun to actually care about all of them. They were idiots. They were, at times,  _ shockingly _ incompetent, but… 

Once, a very, very long time ago, her father had told her not to get involved with anyone who could compromise her. And if she  _ did _ , she should make sure she didn’t  _ let them _ compromise her. He’d meant it, too. The first time she’d run afoul of a governmental agency, he’d hung her out to dry. When she escaped—because she  _ always _ escaped—she’d returned home and ripped him a new one and his answer? 

“I could not get involved, dear one. They would have found out about the deal we had with the locals and I would have been at risk.”

_ He _ would have been at risk. Forget the knife to the belly  _ she’d _ taken in custody, of course. He didn’t let her compromise him.

She was pretty sure, though, that she was compromised all to hell now.

Her pacing had started her bleeding again, and the blood loss, the sleepless night, and the beating she’d taken before the local militia had managed to bring her in suddenly brought her to a grinding, pathetic halt.

She dropped to the cold concrete and sighed, conserving her remaining strength. She should have stayed in Venezuela. Or brought the boys with her. They were actually kind of fun to work with, sometimes. And maybe not  _ shockingly _ incompetent… She growled at her own introspection and realized that eighteen minutes had gone by.

Nineteen.

Aisha used the bars to pull herself to her feet, trying to convince her body she was ready to move.

“What’s a homicidal lady like you doing—God, Aisha, you look like crap.”

Jensen was suddenly at the door of her cell, staring at her with that same concerned look he gave Cougar whenever  _ he _ was hurt.

“Yeah, Papa Bear, I have her,” he said into the radio at his throat. “Are you okay?” he asked her carefully. 

“Only if that’s for me,” she replied, staring at the gun in his hand.

“What? Oh yeah.” He looked down at the firearm, handed it to her through the bars, and produced a ring of keys that was splattered with blood, trying the likely ones in the lock. “I have another,” he told her, preoccupied. “Couple of them.”

The lock popped open and he smiled at her in that maniacal way he had. He really was an adrenalin junkie. “We split up to find you—figured you had to be here somewhere. Clay’s pissed at you, by the way,” he told her, pulling out another pistol for himself. “I think he’s planning  _ discipline _ when we get back to base. I figured I’d take first patrol and, you know, not be there when it happens.”

Aisha limped next to him as he headed toward the end of the cell block and past two very dead guards. “Aw, you don’t wanna watch?” she purred.

Jensen shuddered. “God, don’t do that, Aisha,” he murmured, gun out and ready as they stepped in the jungle night. “It’s creepy as Hell.” He looked her over quickly. “Can you run?”

She rolled her eyes and Jensen smiled, no longer fazed by her glare. She’d have to figure out a way to make him afraid of her again. Maybe.

“Due south, two clicks. Pooch got us a total piece of shit of a helicopter, but it’ll get us out of here.” He nodded as they ran. “Alli, Alli, in come free, boys!” he breathed over his radio, still able to make it sound like crowing. “I won the game of three card Monte, so Pooch is buying the hooch!”

Aisha laughed. She just had to. Running in the night with a bullet in her leg and a crazy man by her side—

She wasn’t actually clear on what happened, after the fact. All she knew was that she was suddenly on the ground with Jensen’s surprisingly warm hand on her face. She didn’t feel any new pains, but then she couldn’t feeling much of anything, really. It was cold in the jungle, which should have struck her as funny.

“Shit, come on, Aisha, stay with me.”

“I am with you,” she said. She was pretty sure she said it, anyway. She’d be fine. The last couple of days had just caught up to her, right?

A siren rang out somewhere in the darkness and Jensen tensed, looking down at her. “Do. Not. Kill me for this. We clear?” And then he lifted her into his arms and ran. And she probably should have shot him, or gutted him with a fingernail, but instead, she just marveled at the fact that he was warm.

And there were gunshots somewhere and the sound of a helicopter coughing into life, but… warm.

She was handed off as the rotor sound got ridiculously loud, and the arms that held her like a precious vase were familiar and also warm and so strangely welcome that it stopped her thoughts cold for a minute. 

“It’s okay, Aisha,” Clay murmured. “I got you.” There was a lip-shaped pressure on the top of her head and then he was yelling. “Get this bird in the air now!”

“Already done, sir,” Pooch called back. “She okay?”

Clay didn’t seem inclined to move her to find out. He just kept her cradled in his arms. “She will be.” His lips were near her hair again. “But if you ever do something that stupid again, I’ll gut you myself, you loser.”

Loser. When had she become one of them? Funny how it didn’t sound so bad anymore.

_ Compromised, all right, _ she thought, drifting as Clay finally laid her out on the floor and she was made nauseatingly aware of the helicopter’s movement. 

She’d always known it was going to happen, sooner or later.

*******   
the end


End file.
